Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

‘What about Dad? Did he enjoy it too?’

‘He was happier than he’s been for ages – that was such a relief. I wasn’t treading on eggshells the whole time.’

After her mother had visited the bathroom, they sat down at the table. Out of the window they could see a squirrel leaping about on the corrugated roofs of the row of garages below.

‘Mmm, this is very good.’ Her mother waved a fettuccine-laden fork. ‘How’s the job hunt going?’

‘Not so well. Everyone wants someone with loads of experience. Having a degree makes no difference.’ A first-class degree probably put people off, she thought. They’d assume she was the clever but impractical type, who wouldn’t know how to liaise with printers or send out mailshots. And they were right, weren’t they?

‘What about that job you went for the other week? The editorial assistant at that magazine?’

‘I haven’t heard anything. I don’t think I have much chance of getting on the shortlist, to be honest.’ Over a hundred people had applied, they’d told her; they’d been interviewing all week. They’d asked her to list her three biggest career achievements, and why she’d had so many jobs since leaving university.

‘Will you be OK to pay the rent, darling? What if you don’t find a job for a while?’

‘I should be OK. I’ve got some money saved, and I’m getting Jobseekers Allowance now.’

That was being optimistic, she knew. Her student loan was nowhere near paid off. The small amount she’d managed to save was dwindling rapidly. The JSA wasn’t nearly enough to cover the rent, and her housing benefit, so they told her last week, could take another month to arrive because of a claims backlog.

‘We can always lend you some money to tide you over, if you need it.’

‘Thanks, Mum, but I’ll be alright. I’ll find something soon, don’t worry.’

Taking a handout from her parents would be admitting that she was still a child who couldn’t look after herself. Worse, it would be her father’s money – her mother earned peanuts compared to him.

‘You know you’re always welcome to come and stay with us for a while,’ her mother went on. ‘I know you don’t like the idea much, now you’re so independent, but it might be more sensible than renting.’

‘Thanks, but no. I’m sure something will come up soon, Mum.’ The words came out a bit too sharp. But she couldn’t live in the same house as him again, not even for a week.

Silence grew in the room like an invisible fog. Her mother looked out of the window, sending off a cloud of hurt and disappointment. Laura concentrated on eating more of the pasta on her plate. Somehow or other, she had to tell her mother the truth. But how? She and her mother didn’t do heart-to-hearts. How would she go about destroying this false conception of her father? Should she dismantle it in one blow, or slowly, piece by piece? And what if what her father said about the breakdown was true, and telling the truth about Dad triggered another one?

‘I’m glad you asked me over. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a chance for a good talk, just the two of us.’ Her mother paused, a trace of a smile on her face. The sun was turning her hair into a halo of golden threads. ‘It would be good to meet up now and then for a chat, do you think? You’ve been so preoccupied lately. We don’t even talk on the phone nowadays.’

Laura didn’t reply immediately. She had an instinct to defend herself. But what her mother said was true. She’d kept Mum just out of reach, not letting her get too close. It was as if the silence she’d kept about her father for all these years had come between them, and squeezed out all the normal things they might have talked about, all the closeness they might have had.

‘I know, Mum. I’m sorry about that.’

It sounded lame. She wanted to say something better, but could think of nothing else to say. Laura picked up the plates and took them into the kitchen; she placed a spoonful of ice cream in each glass bowl, on top of the fruit salad, and brought them to the table.

They were quiet again. Outside, the roof glared silver, making the room bright.

‘Do you think there’s something strange about Dad?’

The words came out of her mouth before she knew it. Her mother froze, a piece of kiwifruit impaled on her fork. Then she put down the fork and laughed.

‘So many of the things Paul does are strange. He seems to get stranger as time goes on, are you thinking of anything in particular?’

Laura dug her spoon into the fruit and let it stay there. It would be so easy to tell her now, the easiest thing in the world.

‘Laura?’

‘Oh, lots of things… the way he used to get so angry, then suddenly be all smiles. The way he…’

Her mother’s frown deepened. ‘He’s been like that more often, lately. I think there’s something wrong, something he’s keeping from me. I’ve been wondering if he might have some condition that’s gone undiagnosed. A few years ago, I asked if he could get a referral to a psychiatrist. He said I’m the one who needs treatment, not him. He’d never go in a thousand years.’

There is something wrong, Mum. There’s something I have to tell you.

The words waited inside her head. A magpie landed on the roof, pecked out a piece of moss and flew away.

‘Is something the matter, Laura? Aren’t you going to eat any dessert?’

‘There’s something I have to…’ she began. The moment passed. She swallowed, suddenly voiceless, aware only of her mother’s face, concerned and confused. ‘There’s something I have to ask you about.’

‘Go on.’

‘Remember when Uncle Rich died? I asked you why you were taking pills, and you said they stopped you feeling unhappy. Was that true?’

Her mother put down her spoon and looked at her in surprise, then she rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed heavily.

‘It was an awful time, really awful. I’m surprised you can remember so much, that far back. July 1999. You’d only have been ten.’

‘Were you having a breakdown?’

‘That’s what they said. It wasn’t the worst kind, I didn’t hear voices or anything. I just found it hard to keep going.’

A shiver hovered about Laura’s shoulders. ‘What happened, Mum?’

‘It was so sudden.’ Her mother tugged at her scarf. ‘No one had any idea there might be something wrong with his heart.’ Her voice wobbled slightly. ‘I didn’t know how to cope without Richard. He was such a wonderful brother, always going out of his way to help. I was much closer to him than to Irene. It was as if my father had died all over again. The same feelings came back that I had then. One part of me was determined to carry on, to look after you and your brother. But part of me just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up.’

‘And the drugs helped you get through it? That was when you started taking them?’

‘I’d taken antidepressants before, on and off. After Richard died, I started taking them regularly – anti-anxiety drugs too. I went to see a therapist – he said I had an anxiety disorder. He helped me deal with the shock and the grief, he helped such a lot.’ Her mother gave a small, sad smile. ‘I’m so sorry to shock you, darling. I didn’t want you to know, I wasn’t proud of myself for caving in like that. I didn’t tell you and your brother because I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t coping, that I wasn’t there for you. But maybe it’s time you knew.’

‘How long did you see him for? The therapist?’

‘Six months. I got a referral from Doctor Edwards.’

She couldn’t speak. A thousand questions whirled in her brain. Had she always known about the breakdown, or half known? The pills, the crying, the long rests in bed – they all made sense now. That was why, for much of her childhood, her mother had been only half there. Why her mother hadn’t noticed things that other mothers would have.